


Misty Toes

by startrekkingaroundasgard



Series: 25 days of ficmas [10]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Asgard, Christmas Fluff, Everyone is fine, F/F, Kisses, Mistletoe, Ragnarok probably didn't happen, that is definitely a doctor who reference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 16:56:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16937142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startrekkingaroundasgard/pseuds/startrekkingaroundasgard
Summary: After hearing tales of a Midgardian tradition, the reader enlists Skurge to help them get the beautiful Lady Sif under some mistletoe for a kiss.





	Misty Toes

“Now you’re just spouting lies!”

“I swear on my honour!” Skurge said, resting his large hand over his heart. “Every year, the people of Midgard go to war with a country called Turkey and eat the inhabitants as part of their victory feast. There are brutal boxing matches and the ones who survive the day are rewarded with rest and gifts of the grandest kind.”

You exchanged uncertain looks with the Warriors Three and Sif just rolled her eyes. She was rarely interested in Skurge’s tales of Midgard as she knew most of them to be false, having visited the realm far more often than he. Still, she allowed him to boast the fanciful tales as occasionally - though she was reluctant to admit it - they were rather amusing.

Setting down your newly sharpened sword, you grabbed your blunt dagger and began to work on the blade. “That sounds like the kind of fight I’d want to go down and see, honestly.”

Volstagg shook his head and said, “The mortals are far from interesting these days. They’re basically tamed and I am certain that these grand fights are little to sing about. They have no sense of a truly glorious battle anymore.”

None of you could argue against that. The few really devastating fights which broke out on Midgard were frankly over the most pathetic causes and the governments and generals fought without any honour. And without valour there wasn’t much point in fighting at all.

“Tell me of another story, Skurge.”

“If your obsession with the Earthlings wasn’t so unfathomable, I’d almost say it was quite adorable,” Lady Sif said from across the garrison hall.

You felt a heat rise to your cheeks at her words and bowed your head, pretending to focus on your dagger instead of the way your insides were swirling. Tracing the edge of the blade with your finger, not yet satisfied with the sharpness, you insisted that your friend share more tales of Midgard until he finally relented (although you knew he was truly overjoyed that someone was finally taking an interest in his stories).

“Midgardians cut down trees from the forests and bring them inside their houses. They trap angels and force them to sit atop the trees, protecting their home from demons.”

“Charming!” you scoffed, hardly surprised that the humans subjugated other creatures of the realm and forced them into slavery.

“Indeed! Not all traditions are so barbaric, though. There is something called misty-toes which they hang from the roof and anyone that walks beneath it is expected to kiss their lover.”

“Misty-toes? Call me a romantic but I don’t think I’d like to kiss someone under a pair of severed toes.” You frowned, the image too barbaric even for your mind to handle. Earthlings were so bizarre.

Skurge shook his head but was beaten by Hogun who explained, “It’s a plant. Mistletoe wood can even kill a god if fashioned into a suitable arrow. The berries can be highly poisonous too.”

“And the humans find it romantic to kiss their lover beneath something so dangerous?” you exclaimed. Perhaps tales of the bravery of Midgard were not so overstated after all. “I do believe I shall pass on that tradition.”

“As if anyone would want to kiss you anyway,” Fandral said, winking at you from across the room. You knew his jab was in good jest; after all, you had shared many kisses and not just while drunk or in the glorious haze of battle.

“Ignore him. Anyone would be lucky to kiss you,” Sif said gently. She turned to the Warriors Three and they fell into a deep discussion about something to do with Thor. Neither you nor Skurge were privy to this new development, obviously, so were left alone in the corner of the garrison to finish cleaning your weapons in peace.

Breaking the comfortable silence between you, Skurge said, “You have feelings for our beautiful shieldmaiden? I can help you with that if you want.”

“Sif? Oh, no,” you said, shaking your head. “We’re just friends.”

“Sure… Look, I don’t think I’ll get to go back down to Midgard against for a while but I’m sure there’s something in the gardens that could double as misty-toes -”

“Mistletoe.”

“ - Whatever. I’m sure I could find something if you were inclined to try that particular tradition.”

“And kiss you?”

“Sif, you fool!” Skurge said, rolling his eyes and trying his best not to be offended by your outburst. “What do you say?”

“I, uh… Okay. Thank you, Skurge.”

“Of course, my friend! Now, why don’t I tell you some more about this wonderful country called Tex-ass.”

***

The first attempt did not go well.

The stolen Asgardian equivalent which Skurge hung in the training room certainly looked the part of mistletoe. It was beautiful, hanging there in the doorway. As you and Sif walked through after a particularly intense session, you paused awkwardly beneath the plant, neither of you completely certain how to act.

“Skurge’s tales are always so fanciful,” Sif said, her eyes flickering between the plant and your face. “You know most of what he claims is false.”

You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks as you became all too aware of how close Sif was standing. It wasn’t as if you’d never been this close to her before; you frequently ended up pinned against her during training practise. However, this felt different.

Sif’s skin was coated in a thin layer of sweat and dirt, blood trickling down her face from a small wound above her eyebrow. To many she would have looked to be in quite the state but you thought differently. You felt an unexplainable draw to her. It was as if her entire being shone with the light of a thousand stars. You wanted to reach out and touch her fair skin, to feel a physical connection to the power and grace she exuded both on and off the battlefield.

Your eyes flickered over her lips and you wished you possessed the courage to make the first move but you did not. In the midst of a glorious campaign, you were as brave and noble a warrior as any other warrior of Asgard but in matters of the heart it was quite the opposite. Beneath your strong exterior was a gentle soul, one rejection away from shattering forever.

Swallowing your nerves, you said, “Of course I know. I enjoy the stories, though. And not all are terrible. This, for example. It is quite the sweet tradition, if you think about it.”

“Indeed, I can certainly see the appeal,” Sif said, lifting her hand to cup your face. Her touch was so light on your skin, it was almost as if you were imagining her touch. She leant in for a kiss before suddenly jumping back, drawing her dagger in a swift movement. “Y/N, don’t move!”

That was when you felt the creature - not unlike the spiders of Midgard, but much larger and an awful lot angrier - crawling over your shoulder and down your arm. Sif took a step forward and slashed at it with her blade. The moment it fell to the ground, she stomped on it with her boot with a sickening squish.

“Are you alright? Do you need to see the Healers?”

“I’m fine,” you insisted, only to quickly change your mind when you saw the enormous red spots on your skin. Everywhere the creature had touched was turning green, its poison working uncomfortably fast. A terrible burning spread through your veins and, if not for Sif’s quick reactions, you would have hit your head hard on a nearby bench when your legs collapsed beneath you.

When your right eye began to twitch uncontrollably and you could no longer feel anything below your elbows, you said, “Perhaps you may take me to the Healers now?”

***

The second attempt was just as unsuccessful, although thankfully without a trip to the Healers.

It was the evening of a grand feast, celebrating a historic battle won by your forefathers many millennia ago. All of the kingdom’s warriors were invited to the palace for an evening of incredible food and drink and even better company. Songs were sung. Legendary duels were recreated and it was the merriest of occasions.

For the past two hours, Skurge had been waving around his sprig of mistletoe in the hope that one of the beautiful ladies at the feast would kiss him. As it turned out, he was having an awful lot more success that you were. The noble women of the court were absolutely enamoured by his tales of Midgard and more than keen to try out the alien tradition themselves.

Catching the way both you and Lady Sif were watching him from the corner of your eyes, Skurge winked at you and reluctantly broke away from the group of adoring women around him. He sent you a glare which said, Look what you’re making me give up. You’re lucky we’re friends.

He came up behind Fandral and held the plant over his head, which earned the laughter of the other warriors around the table. The dashing blonde soldier tilted his head back and happily accepted a kiss from Skurge, even going so far as to pull him back for another.

When he broke away, Fandral shrugged and said with a smile, “I’ve kissed worse.”

Skurge then moved along the table to where Volstagg sat, although quickly changed his mind when he saw the large man practically inhaling the chicken leg. Deciding to leave him to it, Skurge shuffled over to Hogun and dangled the plant obnoxiously in his face.

Hogun narrowed his eyes and ignored the goading of the other, slightly drunk, warriors. He turned his face to Lady Sif and planted a chaste kiss on her cheek. She smiled in return, the friendly exchange of affection surprising her but certainly not considered a bother. Hogun then returned to his in depth discussion on military tactics with a friend, ignoring Skurge completely.

Finally at his intended destination, Skurge held the mistletoe over your and Sif’s heads and wiggled it in the air. He proudly proclaimed that there were no poisonous critters lurking there today and turned to chat with another warrior to give you two a little privacy. (You both knew it was an illusion, though, for everyone around the table was waiting eagerly for you both to finally act on your crushes.)

As you leant in for a kiss, your heart beating in your chest, anticipation making you almost giddy, you were suddenly pulled from your seat by none other than Prince Thor himself. He wrapped you in his enormous arms and patted you firmly on the back when he eventually released you from his vice like embrace. “My dear friend! It has been so long since we last spoke!”

“Indeed, a good many months for certain,” you said.

“Come, sit with me and tell me all of your family. They moved to Alfheim as part of the agricultural resettling, did they not? How goes their new life with the Elves?”

“Very well, thank you Sire,” you said, allowing yourself to be dragged away, your gaze not so subtly flickering back to Sif as you went.

***

Weeks passed without any further attempt from Skurge to catch you and Sif beneath mistletoe, and you were almost glad of it. There was no point in ruining such a wonderful friendship. While you sometimes wished for more, you knew you were lucky with what you had. There was no point in trying to fix something that wasn’t yet broken.

As you walked back through the town one evening, you caught sight of Sif at one of the market stalls. You smiled and waved but kept walking, not wanting to impose yourself on her private shopping time. However, a few seconds later, Sif appeared at your side and linked your arm with hers.

“Mind if I accompany you home?” she asked.

Naturally, you were more than happy to be in her company. You spent the walk discussing everything from the latest political developments between the realms to inconsequential (but far more interesting) gossip from around the palace. The long trip passed far too quickly with Sif by your side.

Stopping at your house, you were surprised to find an enormous circle of mistletoe hanging on your door. You vaguely remembered such a thing being called a wreath, although you were fairly certain that tradition dictated they be made of something else.

“That’s pretty,” Sif said, running her fingers over the leaves of the plant.

“Sadly, I cannot claim credit for its creation. I do believe I have a friend to thank for that,” you said, smirking when you caught sight of Skurge poking his head out from around a nearby corner. He gave you a salute and disappeared, leaving a trail of mistletoe behind him.

Silence hung awkwardly over you both as you kicked the pebbles on the ground, avoiding eye contact for fear of blurting out everything you felt. Unable to take it no longer, you opened your mouth to bid her a goodnight when the unexpected happened.

Sif took a tentative step forward and slid her hand around your neck, her thumb caressing the line of your jaw. She closed the gap between you and placed the softest kiss on your lips. Her lips barely touched yours but every cell in your body was on fire.

Suddenly everything was a blur. You laced your fingers through her hair, tugging on the beautiful brown waves, her low moans igniting a fire inside you. She matched your intensity, backing you against the door, her chest flushed against yours as she kissed you like you were everything she’d been missing in her life.

It was hot and passionate but somehow also painfully slow and sweet, the both of you never wanting this to end. When you eventually broke apart, you asked a little breathlessly, “Would you like to come inside?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”


End file.
